I have always been open about my struggle with recurrent miscarriage. Earlier this year I had my fifth pregnancy loss. To carry is beautiful, and to lose is to climb the highest mountain only to fall with nothing to hold onto.I feel the notion of hope comes with a light that shines bright, and it takes only a moment for the light to be stolen by the cruelty of night. – by Miriama C.T.

This piece was inspired by the cruelty of love. Yes, love can be cruel. By Miriama C.T.

I yearn for clarity. I long to feel at ease with my mind. This month, if i was still carrying I would be giving birth to my child. Instead, I’ve had three miscarriages and it is a daily struggle to overcome the sadness. So, I write. Hoping that within this writing process I will find clarity. I know I am not alone in these thoughts and that is somewhat comforting.

In 2012, I started writing online via WordPress after my Mister snapped this photo of me on our coffee date. Curly Miri became an outlet for me to write and overcome my battle with depression. A lot of my writing is derived from experiences in my first romantic relationship with a man from the age of 16. I left New Zealand to live with him in Washington, fast forward I’m now happy to be back in NZ.

I have now extended my writing to Instagram. I love meeting new people, and I cherish the relationships with amazing souls I have met in the writing world. As an example, I wrote a blog post about moving into a new home and a reader sent me a painting for our home all the way from New Orleans! You can find the beautiful work of Nancy Wolfe Kimberly (Gator Girl Art) here.

At times, I fear that allowing you to roam in the realm of my thoughts is a vulnerable gesture on my part. However, it is the genuine connections that you establish with my words I am most grateful for. Thank you for supporting my writing journey. Much love to you all.

This piece is derived from the experience of first love. I wrote this to encompass the notion of disappointment, disgust and betrayal. Love does that sometimes.

Often we take for granted the words we speak, unaware of the harshness or negative influence it may have on another person. I wrote this after being upset with the burning words of a person who I love. Always speak kindly.

I wrote this for my sister on her birthday. Leah turned 22 and is currently living in Australia.

When my mind is clouded and I can’t help but dwell upon pain from the past, a simple kiss or touch from my love can wash it all away.

It has been five years since I lay on our bed, wishing for my tears to wash over me and numb the pain felt in the depth of my being; allowing me to sleep forever. You left, with three boxes of your belongings and that stupid television I told you was a waste of space. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my body. Every breath ached with lonesome sharpness and I yearned for you to just return and hold me, even if your arms were of lies and deceit. Every morning, you greeted me with the stench of foul whiskey. Every night, I waited for you to come home, you never did because you were with her.

I remember you once referred to our love as the essence of Imzadi. Bullshit.

The thought of you no longer crosses my mind. I should be happy about that but then I feel I’m betraying the rare occasions of bliss that we did experience.

The day I moved on from all that was us, I swore that I would not ever let another man make me cry or yearn for comfort that should be rightfully mine. I lied.